


Prophets and Poetry

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode Related, M/M, Minor Georgie Barker/Melanie King, episode 190 spoilers, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 190!!!Jon and Martin catch each other up on the events of the day.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 42
Kudos: 261





	Prophets and Poetry

"You can sleep in here if you like," Georgie said, stepping into a small storage room off one of the main tunnels and gesturing vaguely at the space. "It'll give you some privacy, at least. We don't really have doors. Or beds."

"This'll be fine, Georgie," Jon said quietly, and Martin chuckled beside him.

"Yeah, it's a sight better than not being able to sleep at all. Thank you guys, seriously, this is... yeah."

Georgie smiled. "Happy to help."

"We're only a few tunnels over," Melanie added. "And the others usually share the big room a few doors down from that. Meet us there in the morning and we can talk about plans?"

"Sounds good," Jon said. "Uh... goodnight, I suppose." It felt a bit too abrupt, but he wasn't quite sure of the social etiquette required of spending the night in your friends' post-apocalyptic cult's hideout and didn't know what else to say.

"Hold on, before you go." Martin took a small step forward, lifting his arms slightly. "Melanie, coming in for a hug if that's alright?"

"Oh!" She looked surprised for a moment, then pleased. "Yeah."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her in a tight embrace. "It's  _ really  _ good to see you."

She smiled. "You too."

The hug ended; Martin turned to Georgie, lifting his arms again. She hesitated for a moment longer than Melanie had before shrugging, and stepping into Martin's hug.

"See you in the morning," she said when she stepped back again, and Jon lifted one hand in an awkward wave in return. He wasn't entirely sure where he stood with Melanie and Georgie at the moment, but he was pretty certain it wasn't in hugging territory.

They left, Melanie's cane tapping quietly along the floor as they went.

Jon shrugged the bag off his shoulders with a sigh, leaning it against the nearest wall.

"Well, that went... as well as it could have, I suppose."

Martin hummed. "It was nice catching up with Melanie, it's been awhile since..." he trailed off.

"Quite." Jon took Martin's bag from him, setting it on the ground next to his own, then started digging in them both for blankets. They only had two; he laid them on the ground in front of the bags, one on top of the other, then sat down on top, leaning his shoulders back into the bags and stretching his legs out in front of him. He patted the blankets next to him when he was done. "Here. It's not the softest bed, but you can use me as a pillow if you like."

The look Martin gave him was fond and grateful. He laid down, tucking his head onto Jon's chest and throwing an arm over his waist. Jon grabbed the loose end of the blanket, pulling it over him, then wrapped his arm around his shoulders, holding him close. He lifted his other hand to Martin's head, and started running his fingers through his hair.

"Comfortable?"

He could hear Martin's smile in his voice. "Very, actually. Let me know if you need me to move so you can lay down."

"Ah." Jon shifted awkwardly, settling further into his half-sitting position against the bags. "I'm, uh, fine here."

Martin looked up at him with a frown, chin digging into his chest where he propped his head. "You're not sleeping?"

Jon shrugged. "Melanie said we could, not that we have to. I, ah... I don't particularly want to face whatever nightmares might be waiting for me."

Martin bit his lip. "You... I know you don't remember, but you didn't have any problems when we were with Salesa."

"Yes, well," Jon sighed. As always, there was a sharp tug of regret around his heart that he'd forgotten their few days of peace. "I have a stronger connection to the Eye here, I suspect. I haven't fainted yet, at least."

"Right." Martin mirrored his sigh, dropping his head back to Jon's chest. Jon closed his eyes, tilting his own head against the bags behind him. He wasn't going to sleep, but with Martin leaning on him, a warm, comforting weight, he would be able to slip into a light doze without risking nightmares.

After a few moments Martin spoke again.

"When Georgie pulled you aside. Did you get a chance to ask her about the cat?"

"Ah." Jon scrunched his nose, unsure how Martin was going to take the news. "Yes. He's, uh... he's okay. He's... got his own domain, actually."

_ "Really?" _ Martin voice was thick with curiosity. "What sort of domain is ruled by a cat?"

"Several cats, actually. It's full of them, Georgie says. And, uh. Well, he's a predator." Jon shrugged. "So he's in a domain of his prey."

"So there's a domain that's just full of loads of cats all hunting mice and birds and things, having the time of their lives?"

"Yes."

Martin was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Is it bad that I kind of want to go?"

Jon let out a huff of relieved laughter. "Oh, thank god, I was worried I was being insensitive with that. I mean, I get that it's a nightmare world of endless suffering and it must be hard on Georgie to see the Admiral like that, and I  _ am  _ sad he's not here with us, but... so many cats."

_ "So _ many cats," Martin repeated, with emphasis.

"I just want to pet them all."

"Tell me about it." Martin sighed wistfully. "Not that I'm not a fan of dark ominous tunnels inhabited by a cult that's worshipping our friends, but not much can compare to cats. Except dogs."

"Blasphemy," Jon said lightly, easily slipping back into the debate they'd been having since their first week working in the Archives. "Nothing compares to cats."

Martin laughed, and Jon chuckled, tugging gently on a lock of hair as it slipped between his fingers. Martin melted at the feeling, sinking heavier into Jon's chest.

A thought occurred. "Speaking of the others," Jon said. "What was all that with Celia earlier? You seemed to recognize her."

"Oh, right. Uh." Martin paused. "So, way back. When you were, um. When the Circus had you." Jon tensed, and Martin tightened his arm protectively around his side. "Some people came in to give statements while you were gone, and, well... she was one of them."

_ "Really?" _ Jon's eyes went wide with surprise.

"Yeah," Martin said. "It was, uh, she had a ghost? In her flat? Probably the Desolation, if I remember correctly, the ghost was on fire."

Jon blinked. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"...Do you remember her name?"

Martin took a breath as he thought back. "Hammond, I think. Ms. Hammond. Lynne, maybe?"

Jon bit his lip. "Should we tell her?"

He could hear the skeptical raised eyebrow in Martin's voice. "Do you think it would help?"

Jon's hand paused in his hair for a moment, then started moving again. "You may have a point."

"She seems to like Celia."

Jon hummed. Martin was probably right; telling her had a higher chance of upsetting her than making anything better.

"How was poetry night, by the way?" Martin asked after a moment. "I'm surprised you sat through it."

"I'm surprised you didn't."

Martin shrugged. "Melanie said it might get... weird."

"She wasn't wrong. It was..." Jon hesitated, trying to find a word to describe the almost religious adulation in Arun's poem. "...Reverent," he finally settled on.

He could feel Martin's wince. "Yikes."

"Quite."

"...Was it any good? Leaving aside the, uh, theme, for the moment."

Jon laughed. "You'd have to tell me, I think we've already established I'm not very well-versed in poetry."

"Fine, fine," Martin sighed. "Can't believe you know  _ everything  _ and you still don't know the value of a good poem."

"Too subjective, I'm afraid," Jon said, smiling. "Though, you may get a front row seat to hear some for yourself if Melanie and Georgie keep telling people we're like them. I get the impression Arun's poetry is inevitable for the prophets."

Martin snorted, turning his face into Jon's shirt to muffle the noise. "Whatever inspires him, I supposed," he chuckled. "I've never had a poem written about me before. Might be kind of flattering."

"Hm, me neither," Jon said, and Martin snorted again.

"Sure you haven't."

"What?" Jon craned his head down, trying to look at him. Martin tilted his own up to meet his gaze.

"Oh come on, Jon," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Jon blinked as he realized what Martin was saying. "Wait, really?"

"Yes!"

Jon grinned, a giddy, surprised happiness bubbling in his chest. "You've written poetry about me?"

Martin rolled his eyes. "Of course I have, I love you."

"I love you too," Jon said automatically. "But that's... wow."

Martin shrugged. "Yeah."

"You were right," he said. "I'm flattered."

"Good," Martin said, with a smug little smile. "I'm glad." He tucked his head back down, settling in more comfortably for sleep.

A few moments passed.

"Martin?"

"Hm?"

"Will you read it to me?"

"Goodnight, Jon," Martin said, and tucked himself even more firmly against Jon's side.

"Oh, come on!" Jon protested, laughing. "Really?"

"Goodnight," Martin said again.

"It can't be that bad," Jon reasoned. "I've read some of your poems before."

"I can't hear you, I'm asleep," Martin said, and Jon rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he wheedled, because he could see Martin's ears turning red. "I'd love to hear it."

Martin said nothing, pretending to sleep.

Jon sighed, and patted his hair once or twice before extracting his hand from the curls and bringing it down to meet the one slung around Martin's shoulders, locking him in a careful embrace. "...Goodnight, Martin."

"'Night, Jon," Martin said softly, and twisted around to press a quick kiss to Jon's collarbone before settling back down.

Jon closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the bags behind him, and relaxed. It was easy to do, in the silence of the tunnels, far away from the fear and the noise of the outside world and with Martin a comforting weight in his arms.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before Martin spoke again, murmuring the quiet words into the fabric of Jon's shirt. "I'll read you one in the morning if I can remember how it goes."

Jon grinned, and squeezed him tightly, leaning down to press a kiss into his hair. "I'd like that."


End file.
